


Baking

by kaclydid



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Birthday Cake, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 21:18:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10794945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaclydid/pseuds/kaclydid
Summary: Requested on Tumblr: "Not sure if requests are open but could you perhaps do one with thranduil x reader where the reader was trying to surprise thranduil with baking sweets but ultimately failing and he catches her during the time where she had a rage quit and become mortified to see him at her embarrassing state? that would be great :D"





	Baking

Wiping a hand over your forehead, you looked down to the book in front of you, trying to decipher the words of the recipe you were trying to follow. Turning back to the workspace, and the overabundance of flour covering everything, you sighed. 

You had only a handful of hours left before Thranduil retired to his chambers for the evening, and you wanted to be able to surprise him with a spread of treats. It was his birthday after all, and he deserved the best you could find, even if it meant baking them yourself. 

Although, ‘sweets’ was a farfetched description for the utter mess making up the kitchen. You had managed to create a rather delectable looking tray of biscuits, decorated with the finest chocolate drizzle your kin imported, as well as a plate of herb and fruit tarts, topped with berries from the gardens. You had even managed to make Dorwinion infused breads - a recipe your mother had taught you years prior - and, lastly, you had attempted to make a cake. 

Said cake now sat half finished in front of you, sitting on a cake pedestal, leaning precariously to one side. 

Servants and maids had walked in and out of the kitchen all day, offering their services to you, but walking away as you glared at them in answer, wanting to do everything yourself. 

As the door opened once more and your handmaiden stepped in, fresh kitchen linens in her arms, she sighed. “My Lady, is everything alright?”

“Perfect,” you answered, leaning forward to try to straighten the cake, brows knitted together in concentration. 

“Do you require assistance?”

“I can make my husband a cake, I don’t need help,” you uttered, more so to yourself than the maid. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you had never managed to make an entire cake by yourself. The biscuits and breads were always easier for you. 

The spongy lemon flavored cake toppled as you placed a hand on the side of it, the entire thing crumbling under your fingers. Your maiden nodded as she set the linens on the table and turned on her heel, leaving the room to wait for orders when you needed her. 

Watching as the cake fell onto the counter, you pushed the pedestal away, reaching for a clean bowl and the ingredients to start over. 

“Too much liquid,” you muttered as you measured out the ingredients for the new cake. “Didn’t bake properly …” 

An hour later, you had remade the batter three times. The first could have been the one you went with, if not for the box of herbs falling off the haphazard pile into the bowl, ruining the flavor. The second went through the oven, only to be forgotten about in your stress, and burnt. The third had you almost crying thick, hot tears, as it toppled out of your hands while you were pouring the batter into the pans, splashing against the floor and the bottom of your skirts. 

At the crash of the bowls and other pans onto the floor, Thranduil laughed, walking into the kitchen. He had been expecting to head to the wine cellar, picking out a few bottles from his collection before retiring. He hadn’t expected to find you completely covered in flour and sugar.

A smile lit his face as he stopped on the bottom step, leaning a shoulder against the wall as he looked over the mess. There was chocolate smudged up your left arm, presumably from the bowl to your side that you had made for the biscuits, flour speckled your cheeks and dusted your hair, and the mess from the first cake had cast crumbs over the entire workspace and onto the floor.

“I’ve had it! I just wanted to make one simple cake for my husband, and I can’t even manage that!” you hollered, still thinking yourself alone in the room as you bent to retrieve the dropped bowls. 

A smooth baritone laugh filled the silence after your outburst and your head popped up, almost dropping the bowl once again as your gaze met Thranduil’s. 

“How long have you been there?” you asked, setting the bowl aside and searching for a clean towel.

Thranduil laughed, stepping over the mess as he rounded the counter to stand before you. “Baking, are we?” he asked, plucking a sprig of rosemary from your curls. 

Sighing in defeat, you pushed the dirty bowl into his hands as you tried to clean up your mess. “Don’t say a word,” you threw at him. “I was just trying to --”

Setting the bowl aside and wiping his hands on a scrap of towel, Thranduil peered under one of the covers on the platters beside him. “Mmm,” he hummed, “What are these?”

“Dorwinion loaves,” you answered. “My mother’s recipe. And there are chocolate biscuits … rosemary tarts … And there was supposed to be a lemon cake, but … it’s on the floor.” You sighed, looking around at the mess. On one hand you were happy with what you had managed to create, but you still thought Thranduil deserved a nice cake for his birthday. 

“Adorable,” Thranduil laughed at your pouting face.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you tossed a few bowls into the wash basin. “Happy birthday,” you added, turning your back to him in disgust, thinking he hadn’t liked the idea of you baking. 

“You’ve been down here all day?” 

“Yes.”

Silence followed before you heard the covers being removed from the trays. “Come on, then,” he started after a few moments. “I’ll get the wine … it all looks lovely.”

Turning around, your brow rose, question marking your features. Your King only smiled, reaching for one of the rosemary tarts. “Leave the mess to the cooks.”

Chuckling, you stepped forward, taking the proffered biscuit as Thranduil turned to sweep down the stairs to the wine cellar. He returned a few moments later, cradling three bottles of his favorite wine in the crook of his left arm, picking up the tray of tarts with his right and stepping past you. Laughing, you picked up the last two platters and followed in his wake. 

“Delicious,” he purred, meeting you at the door and pressing a kiss to your lips. “Thank you, meleth nin.”

“You’re welcome.”


End file.
